


Until We Make This Right (I Won't Say Goodnight)

by YankeesGirl28



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YankeesGirl28/pseuds/YankeesGirl28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like you expected her to break up with him or anything. // Eventual Jake/Amy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until We Make This Right (I Won't Say Goodnight)

It’s not like you expected her to break up with him or anything.

After all, you were leaving on a top secret case where you would have no contact with her whatsoever, you didn’t know when you would be back or even _if_ you would make it back. You kind of just dropped your feelings bomb on her and then walked off into the night.

Still, a small part of you hoped, _dreamed_ Amy Santiago would be single by the time you came back to the 99.

(To be honest, it’s the only thought that got you through some of the nights spent staring at the ceiling trying to forget the horrors of the day.)

But no, you walk into the precinct eight and a half months later to cheers, well wishes, and a few tears from Boyle, only to informed by Holt that Amy Santiago has taken a three-day weekend. She and Teddy were headed upstate so she could meet his parents.

You sink into the chair at your desk to find your butt grooves have long since faded away.

 

* * *

 

She returns Monday with a bright smile and even brighter lipstick. You heart stops, your stomach lurches, and your mind goes blank. There’s no quick remark at the ready, no sarcastic quip to make her roll her big brown eyes at you. You’re completely at a loss for words, because nothing could prepare you to see her face again.

You’re suddenly speechless for another reason. When you shake her hand (Amy Santiago apparently does not do ‘welcome back’ hugs) you feel it. The ring’s turned upside-down, so the diamond cuts into your palm.

“You’re engaged?” You manage to blurt out.

Her eyes widen, and chaos surrounds you. Gina leaps out of her chair, Rosa doesn’t _exactly_ rush over, but she does shove you out of the way without being gentle. The captain offers his congrats and compliments her on the ring. Even Hitchcock and Scully get in on asking for details and how he did and if there’s a date set yet.

You can feel the sympathy in Terry and Boyle’s stares, but you muster up a smile as she turns and catches your eye.

 

* * *

 

You glance at the clock as you catch your breath. 3:21 a.m. At least you got two hours of sleep before the nightmares kicked in this time.

Your head hits the pillows with a thud. It’s been a month, and you still can’t sleep more than a few hours at a time. You close your eyes and the scenes play out on the back of your eyelids. At least you didn’t scream this time.

You reach for your nightstand and fumble around a bit until you find your phone. You roll it back and forth in your hands as you debate making a call. Your mom would just worry, something she’s done enough of to last the rest of her life. Terry’s at home with the kids, Rosa’s dating some guy she met somewhere (she really, _really_ hates giving out details about herself). Gina’s out of the question, as are Hitchcock and Scully. Boyle’d show up with food, but your stomach wouldn’t be able to handle it. Holt’s name flitters through your mind for a second, but you quickly shut it down because, hello, this is real life.

You open your contacts and the first name catches your eye. Before your brain can tell your fingers to stop, you’re hitting send.

_You up?_

It’s cliché and embarrassing and you want to just roll over and die, but a new message pops up on your screen before you can plot it out.

_Yes. You ok?_

Again, you don’t think before sending the message. It seemed to work pretty well last time.

_No_

Time passes and no response comes. You roll over to go back to sleep, figuring you can get two more of your two-hour waking cycles in before you need to head to work when there’s a knock at your door. You wipe sleep out of your eye as you open the door, only to find Amy there.

She’s clad in sweatpants and an old hoodie that looks suspiciously like the one you accidentally left in the squad car when you left. Her hair’s a mess and she’s wearing her granny glasses, and you can’t help but step out of the way and let her in. She walks straight to your couch and turns on the television, scrolling through your Netflix queue.

“You need to catch up on ‘Orange is the New Black,’” she says, her voice thick with sleep. “I watched both seasons over a long weekend. It’s actually pretty good.”

You drop down next to her as she clicks on an episode. Silence fills the air until it suffocates you and you have no choice but to speak. “Why are you here?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds and you’re about to repeat the question when she finally answers. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

A rebuttal is on the tip of your tongue, but it suffers a quick death as you think through your actions since your return. You’ve requested to be partnered with Rosa most of the time. You turn down trips to the bar on the weekends. You’ve even started taking your lunch up to the roof so that you wouldn’t have to be in the break room while she and the girls plan out the perfect wedding.

She’s not looking at you, instead staring straight at what appears to be a lesbian love scene with what would read as a blank expression to anyone else but you. You know from years of pushing her boundaries that this expression, the one she currently wears, is one of hidden hurt. It’s the one she perfected when you used to invite Boyle and Rosa out to the bars and purposefully leave her name out of the conversation.

(Yes, you were an asshole, but you’ve grown up a bit.)

You bump your shoulder against hers and wait for her to look up at you. “I’m sorry,” you say with as much sincerity as you can muster.

She nods, as if you’re apologizing for not returning a pen or something else non-consequential and turns back to the television. You do the same, interested in what exactly she’s gotten you in to, but you don’t get to find out. You’re asleep not three minutes later.

When you wake up, it’s 7:56 and Amy is nowhere to be found. You take a quick shower and throw on what you hope to be clean clothes as you enter the kitchen. Waiting for you is a steaming pot of coffee and a bagel from the place down the street that you frequent when you have the money.

Amy doesn’t look up from her computer as you enter the bullpen forty-five minutes late, but you see her smile grow just a tad. Holt nods in greeting, but doesn’t speak until you stop by his office a few hours later to drop off some reports.

“The bags under your eyes are fading, Peralta,” he says. “It’s good that you’re finally getting some sleep.”

“I’m trying, sir,” you respond as you look out his window. Amy has her head thrown back in laughter at whatever Hitchcock said, and it’s enough to make you smile. If Holt notices, he doesn’t say a word.

 

* * *

 

While your bags fade, Amy’s get bolder.

A wedding magazine is now always within reach. She’s getting calls at the office from florists and dressmakers and the future in-laws. You’ve accidentally picked up one of those calls more than once, and all it’s made you want to do is sit down with Amy and ask if she knows what she’s marrying into. For someone who appears to be so…normal, Teddy’s family can be quite creative when it comes to refusing a certain floral arrangement. There’s a reason they volunteered to foot the bill.

That’s your new thing now: talking. Terry and Holt both spoke with you after the final report from the FBI arrived. They strongly suggested you meet with a therapist, so you are, three times a week for the past month and a half. You don’t necessarily talk about the events of the case. Sometimes you talk about the nine-nine or Boyle’s recommendation mishaps or Gina’s toe infection.

Whatever you do, you certainly don’t talk about the fact that Amy shows up at your apartment every night around 10:30 and leaves once you fall asleep. You also don’t talk about how you wonder if Teddy knows where she goes at this time. That’s something you need to figure out for yourself.

 

* * *

 

It takes a few more months, but you’re finally feeling like you again.

Well, as you as you can be, given the circumstances. You agree to meet a few buddies from the academy at a club for a night of debauchery, or, at least, as ‘debaucherous’ as you can get after one drink. It’s a limit you’ve stuck too since you came back from undercover work, no matter how many challenges you’ve received from Rosa to go shot for shot or drinking games you’ve been asked to partake in. You’ve been a relatively0sober celibate who’s seeing a shrink. No girl wants to get involved with that.

So imagine you need to convince yourself you’ve had more drinks than just one later in the night. After all, that’s the only reason why you would be seeing _Amy Santiago_ dancing in five-inch heels and a tight dress on the top of the bar.

The guys you’re with are making derogatory remarks and it takes everything within you not to snap at them that the woman they’re talking about is the only reason you’re alive right now. Instead, you push away from the table and make your way through the crowd for a closer look. You run into Gina and Rosa, both in equally scandalous outfits, who inform you that you are crashing a bachelorette party. The second Rosa sticks her tongue in your ear, you realize they’re both completely trashed and need to get home now. They cling to you as you speed dial Boyle and tell him to get his ass here to take them home.

Thankfully, he was around the corner at some cheese and wine tasting (you don’t ask) so he arrives in minutes. You pass them off and wish him luck before making it to the bar. There’s no doubt in your mind it’s Amy now. Her dark hair is in curls, waving back and forth as she sways from side to side. There’s a group of girls off to the side cheering her on. They’re all wearing “Bridesmaid” sashes, and you recognize them as Teddy’s sisters.

(Earlier in the week, Amy went on a five-minute rant on how Teddy only wanted three groomsmen, which meant she could only have three bridesmaids. Seeing as her brothers were ushers, she was guilt tripped into making his sisters bridesmaids, so Rosa and Gina were downgraded to personal attendants. Although Rosa claimed she was happy she didn’t have to wear the frilly monstrosity Teddy’s mother ‘suggested,’ you could tell it hurt her, Gina, and Amy more than they were willing to admit.)

You call out her name over the loud cheers for her to keep dancing. Her steps are unsteady in her heels and she’s dangerously close to falling over. There’s a bottle of Jack in her hand that only has a little bit of liquid left.

The third time she almost falls, you leap onto the bar and catch her. Her face splits into a wide grin when she sees you, her brown eyes filled with joy as she throws her arms around your neck.

“Jakey!” she shrills. “You’re here! I wanted you here and here you are.”

You have no time to dwell on her statement because you’re too busy picking her up and jumping on to the floor. The bridesmaids don’t even attempt to stop as you walk out the door of the bar with Amy still in your arms. You give the cab driver your address as Amy babbles on about her feet and heels and how they’re a curse from God because Eve at the apple even though it’s all Adam’s fault. You let her continue to ramble as the cab weaves through the busy streets. Every now and then, the light catches her face just right and you have to remind yourself that you cannot feel this way about a woman who’s engaged.

(Oh, right. You’re at the point in therapy where you’ve openly admitted you’re over the moon for Amy Santiago.)

“You know, I never wanted a big church wedding,” Amy leans her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

“No?” you say. “I always pictured you as the type of girl to have every detail planned out by the time you were six.”

“Five, actually,” she says in that know-it-all tone you’ve grown to love. (Damn it.) “But I didn’t want it in the church. I wanted it to be simple. Trip to city hall and call it good, you know?” Amy waves her hand as if she’s chasing away the thought. “It’s not about the wedding anyway. It’s about the marriage. Why anyone wants to spend twenty _thousand_ on floral arrangements is beyond me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You’re going to send Scully’s allergies into hyper drive.”

She laughs her drunken laugh, a giggly little trill that sends you heart aflutter. (Who ARE you right now _?_ ) “It’s not my fault the future family is all well to do and needs to put on a show for everybody to see how great and perfectly perfect they are.” She sighs and turns so that she’s now looking at you, her cheek leaned against the leather seat. “I didn’t know this was where he came from. If I had…” she trails off, and you can’t help but pick up the sentence.

“If you had, you what?” you ask.

“I would have said no.” It comes out in a whispered rush. “He turns into this whole other person around them. Like everything needs to be uniform and by the rules. And I get that! I thought I wanted that, but I don’t. He doesn’t even make stupid puns!” She blinks away tears. You want to reach out and comfort her, but the next time she looks up, there’s a vengeance in her eyes. “Why did you have to leave?”

Her question catches you by surprise. All you can respond with is a half-baked, “What?”

She shifts so she’s sitting up, able to see eye to eye with you. “You left.” She pokes you in the chest with enough force to bruise. “You said you liked me and then. You. Left.” Each word is punctuated by another stab of her manicured finger. “Why?”

“Because I had to,” you say. “I had orders.”

She scoffs, an ugly sound falling from her lips. “Since when are you one for following orders?” Her tone bites. “I mean, why did you have to tell me that? Why then?”

“I needed to say it,” you manage. “Just once.”

“But I didn’t need to hear it!” she cries. “I was happy! I was proud of you for doing something that finally matched your potential. And then you had to screw it up.” She doesn’t try to stop the new tears that are falling. “I stayed in that stupid parking lot for three hours, Jake, wondering where that came from! And then,” she sniffled, “and then I had to go home and find Teddy made me dinner, and he told me he loved me and I said it back even though I know I didn’t mean it!”

She’s sobbing at this point. Every fiber in your body screams at you not to do it, but you pull her forward so she’s nestled against your chest. You can feel her tears soak through your shirt as she clutches your shoulder like a lifeline.

“I missed you so much,” she cries. “I wanted you there, but you weren’t. I couldn’t even call!”

“I know,” you run your hand up and down her back. “I know.”

“I needed you, Jake,” she sobs. Your heart manages to break a little more.

Her sobs come to a stop and her breathing starts to slow. By the time the cab pulls up to your building, Amy’s fast asleep. The driver gives you a sympathetic smile as you pay him and step out of the car.

 

* * *

 

You put in for a transfer to vice that Monday. Holt raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, just nods and puts the paperwork in his outgoing pile.

You don’t speak a word of it to anyone, especially Amy. She hasn’t mentioned a word about the weekend to you, and you don’t intend to be the one to bring it up.

“Why don’t you want to tell her?” your therapist asks. You don’t bother to answer, as you both already know why.

 

* * *

 

This doesn’t mean Amy doesn’t find out.

There’s a thundering on your door Friday night that’s loud enough to wake the spirits that supposedly live in your apartment, if Gina’s to be believed. You swing it open to find a livid Amy Santiago glaring at you. She’s in the red dress she wore to Holt’s birthday all those months ago, and the fact that she probably came from the rehearsal dinner hits you.

 She doesn’t wait for you to move out of the way, instead she shoves past you to enter your apartment. You wince as you close the door and wait for the inevitable blow up.

 “You’re transferring.” It’s not a question as much as it is a really angry statement she’s daring you to confirm.

You sigh and lean your back against the doorframe. Her hands are on her hips, eyebrow raised expectantly. “I am.”

“Why.” Again, not a question, but a demand.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “I like undercover work.”

“Oh really?” she snarls. “Then why have I had to make sure you’re getting sleep? Why do you need to see a therapist? Why don’t you talk about your new ‘battle wound?’” She stabs you in the abdomen where she knows the bullet wound mares your skin.

“Perks of the job.” You should have anticipated her slap. Your face stings and she’s huffing, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

“You are an idiot,” she begins to pace around the tiny space. If you so much as move an inch you’ll block her path. “Of all the stupid things you could do, this is by and far, the most moronic! You do know it’s not all undercover work, right? You have to do surveillance. A lot of it. You will have to sit in a van for hours on end, which I know you hate. And you’re _new_ partner won’t be as nice as me and put up with your fidgeting and stupid questions.” She’s running her fingers through her hair, the ring getting caught in an uncharacteristic snarl. “You just got back! Why are you-“

“I’m in love with you.”

Your words bring her to a sudden stop. All air leaves the room as she turns to look at you. You’d be ashamed if you weren’t so relieved to finally get the words out.

“What?” she whispers. All the rage has fled from her voice.

“I love you,” you repeat, a bit more conviction in your words, “and I can’t stand around and watch you marry someone who, by your own admission, doesn’t make you as happy as you deserve. I can’t do it, and you can’t ask me to.” You mirror her previous action as you run you fingers over your scalp. “I need to get out. And if that means going back under, that’s fine.” Your therapist and anyone with an IQ might disagree, but you’re too far into this speech to back down now. “And so, you are going to go back to your apartment, where your perfect little future family is waiting for you to go over seating arrangements or God knows what for the wedding tomorrow while I pack up.”

She stands there for a few more seconds, completely dumbstruck at his words. When you’re just about to sigh and apologize, she speaks.

“Screw you, Jake.” She slams the door shut behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

You lay in bed the entire day.

Your phone buzzes with texts and calls from everyone, but you ignore it. At one point, you consider throwing your phone off the loft and onto the couch down below, just so you don’t have to see the names pop up on the screen.

Rosa…Gina…Gina…Gina…Boyle…Terry…Robot…Boyle…Gina…Gina…Gina…Gina…

Never Amy. Not that you expected it.

You scrub your hand over your face. You’re an idiot. Holt’s given you the “be supportive” talk in the past, so why didn’t you listen? If you had, you could have moved on, gone to this stupid wedding, and watched as Amy finally had something that made her happy instead of annoyed. But no! You have to sit here, wallowing in your own shame and avoiding the problem.

(It’s not like the universe was playing fair anyway. It’s exactly one year to the day that you confessed your feelings to Amy.)

A light knock on the door shakes you out of your self-pity. The Chinese your ordered must have finally arrived. You don’t bother to pull on pants as you amble over to the door in your boxers. It’s New York City, after all. There’s no doubt the delivery guy has probably seen worse shit than this.

You, on the other hand, are completely unprepared to find Amy Santiago in a wedding dress on the other side of the threshold. Her hair is in loose curls down her back, her makeup still perfectly intact, no tear tracks running down her face. You look at the microwave to get the time. She should be at the church. As a matter of fact, she should be Mrs. Teddy WhatHisFace right now. But instead, she’s here.

You realize neither of you have said anything since you opened the door, so you rush to fill the void.

“You look like a cupcake.” Not your finest moment by far, but she smiles.

“I told you it’s pretty bad,” she says, not at all phased by your outburst. “Gina tried calling.”

“Yeah, I…” You jerk your thumb over your shoulder in what you hope conveys that you know what she’s talking about, “heard,” you finish lamely.

She nods and rocks back and forth on her heels. The dress swishes with every movement. “Can I come in?” She asks finally. You silently move to the side and make sure the entirety of the dress makes it in the door before you close it. Amy wonders over to the couch and sits down. You pick up a shirt along the way and pull it on before joining her.

“What are you doing, weirdo?” You say finally. “Don’t you have to church to be at?”

“You can’t leave,” she interrupts, a very Amy Santiago thing to do. “Please, Jake, you can’t. I need you to say you won’t.”

“Why?” You ask. There’s another knock on your door but you ignore it. You’re not hungry anymore, and you don’t care if the place will no longer take your calls. There are other places in the city. You could always ask Boyle for a-

“Because I just called off a wedding for you, and so help me, if you leave for vice anyway, I might never forgive you.”

You can’t imagine what your face looks like as your process the words, but her face brightens as you smile. You take her hand and rub you thumb over her knuckles. There’s no point in asking if she’s sure. This is Amy Santiago, after all.

“I can’t say it back yet,” she warns you.

“This is good enough for me,” you kiss the top of her forehead before pulling her to her feet. “Come on, I think I have something a bit more comfortable.”

“Jake,” she warns, but is pleasantly surprised when you produce a t-shirt and sweatpants from the laundry basket nearby. She changes while you catch the deliveryman and pay for the food. You end up eating it together on the kitchen floor as she recounts the details of the almost wedding, including Rosa head-butting one of the groomsmen and Boyle telling Teddy’s mother she had horrible taste in sirloin. What takes the cake is the fact that Holt was the one who volunteered to announce the wedding was called off.

 

* * *

 

 

Which is why, a year and a half later, he’s the one you and Amy ask to preform the ceremony in Central Park. Rosa and Gina are bridesmaids wearing non-hideous dresses while Boyle and Terry try their best not to cry acting as your groomsmen. Hitchcock and Scully stand with your mom and her parents and brothers as Amy, says “I do,” in a simple white dress.

**Author's Note:**

> ...whoops?
> 
> writergirl28.tumblr.com


End file.
